


let loose your longing

by iimpossible_things



Category: Little Women (2019), Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Not Beta Read, Theodore Laurence/Amy March - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:18:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22618927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimpossible_things/pseuds/iimpossible_things
Summary: "We were so absorbed in one another we were of no mortal use apart."Amy and Laurie can't keep their hands off each other.Or, the interlude between a first kiss and a wedding.
Relationships: Theodore Laurence/Amy March
Comments: 212
Kudos: 880





	1. Chapter 1

First, Aunt March was hungry, so Laurie found her a snack. Then, she was thirsty, so Laurie brought her some tea. She was hot, so Amy cracked open the window. She was cold, so Amy closed the window. The room was too stuffy. The seats, too uncomfortable. It was all too irksome. She needed to stretch her legs. 

“Oh stop fussing, child!” she snapped, batting Amy’s hands away. “I am not dead yet. I can manage a little walk by myself.” 

Still, Amy hovered, brows creased, lips pursed. 

She’d been on edge for hours, for days, before the train ride, before Aunt March’s foul mood. Jumpy, and skittish. 

Was it his fault? He’d thought they’d sorted everything out, that she understood. They were _engaged_ and yet...and yet she could barely stand to meet his eyes. She flew from his touch and left a room as soon as he entered it. 

Was it the kiss? Should he not have kissed her? She hadn’t seemed bothered by it at the time--quite the contrary--but it had been days and each day it got worse.

“Aunt March,” she rushed to the door. “Do be careful, the train shakes and--” 

The door slammed in her face. 

Amy stood unmoving in front of the door, her back stiff and tense. 

Was she scared of him? Did she think he would use the opportunity to maul her? He could hardly blame her, given his past behaviour.

“Amy,” Laurie approached slowly, “is every---” 

She whirled around, eyes wide. “Kiss me.” 

He blinked. “What?” 

“Kiss me, _now_ , before she comes back.” 

As always with the March women, he was confused, lost and caught unaware. But this was one order he didn't mind following without question. He closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against hers. 

Amy sank into the kiss. Her body relaxed for the first time in days. A thrill swept through her. The same thrill she’d felt on that sunny day when he’d first kissed her; when he’d proposed. A thrill that started from her head and ended at her toes, a swooping in her stomach like she’d just jumped off something steep and terrifying and _wonderful_. _Laurie_.

“I thought you’d changed your mind,” he said in between kisses, voice hoarse. “You avoided me so much I thought you regretted the engagement. That you were sorry.”

“Don't be silly,” she said. “It was hard to be around you without thinking about this, that's all.”

He laughed, feeling suddenly light. “Have you been having impure thoughts about me, Amy March?”

Her lips pulled up. “Shut up and kiss me.”

She grabbed hold of his vest and pulled him closer and closer, until she was pressed flush against the door and he pressed flush against her. Or as close as he could get with all those ridiculous layers of clothes she wore. 

He nudged at her lips with his tongue. She frowned, unsure what he was asking. Another gentle swipe across her lips. Slowly, hesitantly, she parted her lips--and moaned when she felt his tongue against her own. 

“ _Laurie_.” 

There was a voice telling her that this was not proper. There was no chaperone in the compartment. Five more minutes alone with him and she could be ruined. It was wrong-- _wrong_ \--of her to enjoy a kiss so much. Unladylike. Unladylike to have longed for it as she had. What would Aunt March say? the voice asked. But there was a much, much louder voice chanting happily, and triumphantly, and incredulously: _Laurie, Laurie, Laurie_.

Laurie, kissing her. 

Laurie, putting his hands on her waist and pulling her close. 

Laurie, groaning as though she was all he wanted. 

Laurie, saying her name like a prayer. 

When they finally broke away, she couldn't think. Didn’t want to think. She wanted only to feel the safety of his arms, the softness of his tongue. 

She leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes. She hummed, feeling like she was in the softest dream. “You are so much better at that than Fred.” 

There was a beat then Laurie gave a breathless laugh. “I don’t really want to think about you and Fred.” 

She opened her eyes. “Oh, hush. As though you did not have your share of dalliances, which, I am sure, were far more scandalous than anything Fred and I were up to.” 

His cheeks reddened and he cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that is--” 

There was a small clamoring outside. 

“Aunt March!” Amy gave him a small push, hands flying to her hair. “How do I look?” 

“Beautiful.” 

“ _Laurie_.” 

He smiled, reaching up to fix the one small strand that had escaped its pin. “You look very proper, my lady.” 

His gaze was soft, and gentle, but hungry too and Amy found herself blushing to her roots as she cleared her throat and took her seat, sketchpad held in shaky hands. 

The door flew open. 

“Amy? Why are you so red? Are you ill, child? Open that window, boy, can’t you see she’s overheated? It’s no wonder -- it’s hot as the Dickens in here. What is so funny, Theodore Laurence?” 

Laurie schooled his face quickly. “Sorry, Aunt March.” 

He could feel Amy glaring at him as he moved to open the window, but all he could do was smile, hoping it looked more apologetic than it was. He couldn't help it. Amy March had avoided him because of how much she wanted him. Who wouldn’t feel triumphant at that? 

Amy March, ladies and gentlemen. Amy March. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, properly and patiently edited and beta-read. I haven't shared a work publicly in, say, 15 years (I think). I don't know how AO3 works. I was going to learn, if I ever decided to actually post something. But work has been exhausting and hard and miserable and long and it would just be so, _so_ nice to do something I enjoy. Something I'm good at and they can't ruin for me. So now it's poorly edited, ill thought-out mini-chapters. 
> 
> Amy March has always been a favourite of mine, and her relationship with Laurie something I have defended for _years_. I have much more to say on the topic, but that will be for another day, when I have less work and I am less drained. 
> 
> Pretty sure the title is from an Anne Carson quote.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much everyone for reading and thank you to everyone who commented/kudo-ed/bookmarked my little story. I appreciate it so much, you don’t know how they brightened my day whenever I saw them. Being a junior lawyer can be a truly exhausting, stressful and belittling experience. Writing is my free therapy. 
> 
> I hope you guys like this chapter. I had originally planned for another chapter here, but I thought it was too soon for it, and the idea of Laurie whisking a morose Amy away to dance with her was too alluring for me. And then, as soon as the chapter was done, I decided to post it so I’m sorry for any obvious errors. I’m usually such a perfectionist, but I realized that if I start workshopping/editing, etc., all that accomplishes, is that I overthink it and end up sit on the thing for the rest of my life because it’s not perfect. And you tell me, what’s the point of something perfect if no one ever gets to read it, huh? 
> 
> Warning for future chapters – the rating will go up. I’m trying to do it as realistically as possible, but I can’t help it these two disaster cinnamon rolls were too horny to wait to get married. Additional warning—Laurie is a bottom. I don’t make the rules. I don’t know how much of a role that will play in future chapters (if at all) but I’m putting this out there now if you’re not into it. I will update the tags/rating in accordance with the content of future chapters.

“Laurie,” Laurie’s grandfather started mildly. “My memory is not as good as it once was. Remind me, was she always this terrifying?” 

Laurie looked over at where his fiancée was currently making Frank Garlob the Sixth regret ever opening his in-bred, aristocratic mouth, and smiled. “You should try being on the other side of one of her lectures.” 

His grandfather raised an amused eyebrow. “Had experience with a lot of those, have you?” 

“I don’t mind admitting that there have been one or two occasions where my fiancée has, uh, lectured me on my behaviour.”

“And I can see that they worked brilliantly.” A pause. “Do you think we should go and rescue him?” 

Laurie’s answer was immediate. “No.” 

A chuckle from his grandfather and they lapsed into silence, Laurie’s eyes fixed on Amy. They were too far for Laurie to hear her exact words, but Amy had a certain way of speaking when she lectured and he could make out the way she was enunciating her words slowly and careful, her voice stern. 

_(“Well he is expecting you, so why don’t you do it?”)_

_(“So don’t sit there and tell me that marriage isn’t an economic proposition.”)_

His grandfather scoffed. 

“What?” 

He shook his head, chuckling. “That girl has you wrapped around her finger.”

Laurie rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. There was no point to denying it. 

“I’m glad to see it,” his grandfather continued, “I know you always thought you would marry Jo, and I would have supported the match if it made you both happy, but I hope you don’t mind me saying now that I very often found myself rooting for our little Amy instead.” 

Laurie did a double-take, before turning fully to his grandfather. “You knew?” 

His grandfather smiled. “She wasn’t very subtle, Laurie. Used to break my heart whenever I saw her little face when you and Jo went off on your own.”

He swallowed, looking down at his drink. “I--I never noticed.” 

“Well, I’m not surprised. You only ever had eyes for Jo, back then. Eventually she grew resigned to it, I think, and learned to hide it better.” 

_(“Not when I have spent my entire life loving you.”)_

He looked across the room to where Amy had relinquished Mr. Garlob and had resumed watching the dancefloor wistfully. She’d been doing that all night; watching the couples dance and pretending she didn’t want to join them. It wouldn’t be proper, for a lady in mourning. A ridiculous restriction, Laurie had always thought, and resented all the more now. The evening was in his grandfather’s honour before he returned home and here his fiancée was, wishing for a dance. As though a simple dance would make Amy forget her grief or her sister’s memory. Like she wasn’t living every moment of her life with the constant pain of her loss. Amy carried her sorrow well, the way she did everything else: with grace and poise and dignity. But Amy--Amy should spend every minute of her life happy. Jubilant. Proud. Occasionally, she could yell at Laurie, if she wanted, to add some variety. But, on the balance, she should be happy. 

“Are you alright, Laurie?”

Laurie glanced at the clock. They’d promised Aunt March that they would spend at least an hour talking to other people at the soirée (“honestly, it is un _seem_ ly, the way you two keep carrying on”)--he figured forty-five minutes was sufficient.

“Excuse me.” Laurie said, and did not wait for a response before he was already crossing the room and sliding beside Amy. 

“Hey,” He leaned over, whispering. “Come with me.” 

Amy did not take her eyes off the dancefloor. “What?” 

“Just,” He reached down and linked their hands together, “come with me.” 

Amy looked back to him, a small puzzled smile tugging at her lips, before she nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. 

Laurie grinned, and led her out the hall and through a set of doors, up a flight of stairs, and in through another room, pulling the doors closed behind him. The music drifted in softly from the floor below. 

He turned, linked his hands behind his back and smiled. 

“Laurie, what--what are you doing?” 

“I’m looking at you.” 

She laughed softly. “I mean, what are you _going_ to do?” 

He extended his hand. “ _I_ am going to dance with my fiancée.” 

“What? Laurie someone could see.” 

“No one will see.” He promised, stepping closer. 

“Laurie, you’re--” 

“Beautiful, I know, we’ve spoken about my beauty before.” 

She shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.” 

Still, she slipped her hand into his. He executed a bow. She made a curtsy. And then he pulled her close. 

They twirled around the room together, a comfortable silence between them as they navigated their way around the fireplace, the sofa and all the other little obstacles around the room, giggling each time one of them bumped into something. 

“Are you having a good night?” 

She smiled. “It’s had its moments.”

“I noticed you reduced Frank Garlob to tears.” 

She gave him a look. “And I noticed you were conveniently nowhere to be seen.” 

“I didn’t want to stand too close! I didn’t want to risk being found guilty by association." She laughed again and Laurie felt lighter. If he could make her happy--he’d spend his whole life doing it. "And you looked like you were having fun.” 

“I am having more fun now,” she said. 

The music came to a stop and the two slowly, reluctantly, came to a still. 

She stepped closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Laurie.” 

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Always.” 

She raised her head at that, at the same time he leaned down, their lips mere inches apart. The moment stretched between them. 

He wasn’t sure which of them closed the gap, but then her mouth was on his and he didn't care. 

Their kisses were soft and gentle. As soft and gentle as Amy was. One kiss, two, three. On the fourth kiss, he paused just before reaching her lips, glancing up at the door as voices drifted close. For a moment, they stood frozen, their breathing stilled as the doorknob twisted. Amy clutched his arm. Then, thankfully, the knob released and the voices faded. Laurie closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. 

Amy sagged against him, a small giggle escaping. “That was dramatic, wasn’t it?” 

“Amy--” 

A firm hand landed on his chest and _pushed_. Laurie fell on the sofa, Amy fell next to him and then her lips were on his, prying his mouth open with her tongue. Laurie groaned. He should have known bold little Amy March would catch on quick to kissing. And surpass all expectations. Was this the best kiss he ever had, or did he only think that because it was Amy doing the kissing? 

He reached up a hand to cup her cheek, the other firm around her waist. He should not--they should not-- _he_ should not be near a horizontal surface with Amy trying to devour him. If the Lord was trying to test him, Laurie was the first to admit he would fail. He was a weak man. He did not stand a chance. 

“Amy, someone could walk in,” he said in between kisses. 

“Hm, yes—we—we should go.” 

“Exactly,” he said, “hmm—just—”

“—just—”

“—one more kiss,” they finished at the same time. 

And if the kiss turned into several before Laurie snuck them out of the room again, well, he’d already admitted he was a weak man. How he was to wait the whole journey home for their wedding, he didn’t know. Not when his fiancée was so unfairly tempting. Not when she kissed like that.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the years of watching the March sisters practice their craft, Laurie had made certain observations about them. Whenever Jo concentrated on her writing, her tongue would stick out the corner of her mouth. It made an adorable picture, with her wild hair and ink-stained hands. Whenever Beth concentrated on her music, she would hum to the tune of the music. And whenever Amy concentrated on her art, her brow would furrow, as though the canvas was some naughty imp she could frown into submission. It shouldn’t have been so appealing, except that it was and it stirred something up in Laurie that was not entirely appropriate for the drawing room of a hotel in the middle of the afternoon. 

“Laurie, will you stop fidgeting!” 

Laurie’s body obeyed before he’d even registered the words. “Sorry, sorry.” 

His fiancée dropped her brush with a huff. “You’ve ruined your necktie again, Laurie.” 

“My apologies, Raphaella.” 

Another huff, this time amused, and she reached over to straighten his necktie. He took the opportunity to catch her wrist and tug her down next to him. 

“Laurie,” She hissed, fighting back a laugh. “Someone will see.” 

“No one will see.” He said, the lines now a familiar pattern between them.

He captured her lips with his own. It was a chaste kiss. Their kisses always started off chaste. Then one of them would part the other’s lips and they would lose themselves to the taste and feel of each other, the rest of the world forgotten. 

Laurie cupped Amy’s cheek, pulling her closer to deepen the kiss when the clock rang and Amy sprang from him.

“Oh, Laurie, I have to go. I promised Jordie I’d help her with her gown for tonight.”

“She can’t dress herself?” Laurie asked, confused, even as he stood to help her up. Jordie Tuppins was an intelligent girl of 18 with enough maids to help her put on several dresses. Surely she did not need yet another person for the task? 

Amy rolled her eyes. “Well, yes, she _can_ but she wants to look particularly good because she’s going to the theater tonight and her former beau will be there, and she wants to look so good on Mason Ruus’s arms that he will fall to his knees and beg her to forgive him and to marry him at which point Mason will be so overcome with jealousy that _he_ will beg her to marry him, which she will accept because really, it’s Mason she wants and not her former beau who did not seem like a sensible man in the first place but he is essential to our plan regardless as Mason is dragging his feet and being _entirely_ unreasonable about the whole affair.” 

Laurie blinked. “What?” 

“Oh, nevermind,” she said, waving him off and walking quickly to the door, “you wouldn’t understand.” 

She was just a step away from the door when she turned back around, walking to him and tugging him down for a kiss. “I will see you at dinner?” 

“Of course,” he said, both of them unable to keep the silly smiles off their faces. 

A final kiss and Amy dashed out the door, leaving Laurie smiling in her wake and shaking his head. Still more than a little confused at _that_ explanation, Laurie made his way through the hotel, whistling to himself. It was a beautiful day, perhaps he would go for a walk--

“Young man,” a voice called. 

Laurie stopped. Thought about it. Walked backwards three steps. Peered through the open doors to his right. “Aunt March?” 

“Come,” the older woman ordered, tapping her cane to the floor, “sit.” 

“Is everything okay?” Laurie asked, taking his seat and already nervous. 

Aunt March said nothing, fixing him with a shrewd look that stretched and stretched as Laurie fidgeted, feeling pinned to the couch. Had he done something--? 

“Aunt Mar--” 

“I am very fond of Amy, Theodore.” 

Laurie smiled, relieved. “Yes, I know. She’s very fond of you too.” 

“ _Don’t_ interrupt me, young man,” she glared. “I am very fond of Amy. She’s a good girl and she is certainly the most practical and level-headed of her sisters. And for better or for worse, she has decided that she wants _you_ to be her husband.” 

“Yes,” Laurie said, “I am very lucky.” 

Aunt March glared again at the interruption. “You wouldn’t know it to look at me now, but I was young once and I remember what it was like to be young and in love, and while there is nothing wrong with a kiss here or there between a young couple engaged to be married, Amy is still an impressionable, young, sheltered girl. Do you take my meaning?”

Laurie swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and nodded. Had she seen them at the soirée? Or the drawing room earlier? Or the gardens, the day before? They’d been _careful_ , and their interludes _so so_ short, but there was no getting around that the two of them had taken full advantage of every opportunity for privacy. 

“She is unaccustomed to male appetites, and naive in the ways of men and women. You,” She raised an eyebrow at him and he flushed, “Are not.” 

“Aunt March—”

She brought her cane down again, cutting off whatever he may have said. “She is an _innocent_ girl who has been in love with you her whole life. It is easy for her to be overwhelmed. It is _your_ responsibility to ensure that nothing gets out of hand, or whatever befalls that girl will be your responsibility. You may be engaged but you are _not_ married. You would do well to remember that. Do we understand each other?” 

Thoroughly terrified, Laurie nodded, then croaked, “yes, ma’am,” when she did not appear sufficiently satisfied. 

“Good.” She sat back, suddenly calm. “You may go.” 

“T-thank you,” he said and fled.

Good mood evaporated, Laurie paced the halls of the hotel, unable to still his mind. 

As humiliating and terrifying as the conversation had been, Aunt March was right. Amy was happy to kiss him, yes, but could she have any notion of what she brought out in him? She parted her lips easily enough, but what would she say if she knew how vividly, and how often, Laurie fantasized about parting her legs and sinking to his knees in front of her? What would she say if she knew that sometimes he broke their kisses, not to get air, and not for the fear of discovery, but because he had begun straining against his clothes?

Could she have any notion that he sat through every meal, trying not to flush too much when Amy bit into something delicious and _moaned_. That he watched her sketch and modeled for her and had to bite his lips to stop from begging her _“please”_ when she ordered him about (“stop fidgeting, Laurie” or “roll up your sleeve, Laurie”). That at night he lay in his bed and took himself in his hands and thought about how it would feel to sink into her, to lick into her, as he tugged himself into a climax. 

Aunt March was right. Amy was too innocent and too precious for this. 

He would have to do better. He _would_ do better. 

With this new resolution in mind, Laurie arrived late at dinner that night, having decided that fresh air would be just the thing to strengthen his resolve and having walked further than he’d intended. He studiously avoided Amy’s concerned gaze once he entered the room, and, ignoring the empty seat next to her, took a seat between his grandfather and a lady whose name he was sure he knew but could not remember for the life of him. 

He could feel Amy’s eyes on him throughout dinner, which he pretended he did not see. Thankfully, they were seated too far away for any attempt at conversation. Regrettably, dinner did not last forever, and while Amy did not immediately corner him, he did eventually find himself confronted with his irresistible fiancée and her irresistible pout. Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with an ugly person instead?

“Laurie,” she said, words carefully enunciated in a way that indicated he was testing her patience, “would you like to escort me for a walk through the garden?” 

“Perhaps another night.” 

She blinked at him, lips parted in shock, and Laurie almost folded right there. What would be the harm, really--no. He was going to do better. 

He took a deep breath and drew himself up. “Excuse me.” 

He could feel Amy’s eyes on him as he walked away to stand next to a group of other men, pretending to listen to their conversation. He would not look over at Amy, he would not look over at Amy, he would not look over at--

“This is a rare sight,” his grandfather said, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“What is?” 

“You and Amy, spending the night apart. Usually, Mrs. March is all up in arms about how you two go on.” 

Of their own accord, his eyes flicked to Amy who had since given up on staring at Laurie and was engaged in conversation with Mrs. Beecham. Feeling his gaze on her, she glanced over. She pursed her lips and lifted her chin, turning away from him. 

He cringed. Great. Now she was angry at him. He probably deserved that. 

His grandfather’s eyes flicked between him and Amy. “Is everything alright, Laurie?” 

“Yes,” he answered immediately, before he sighed, “no.” 

“Those are your two main options,” his grandfather said, “let’s walk outside and you can tell me all about it.” 

It was not a suggestion. 

Laurie sighed again and followed his grandfather outside, breathing the fresh air. 

“I know I’ve been acting strange,” he admitted, “I’m just trying to put some boundaries. Physically, I mean. I mean not that anything has happened--it hasn’t--I just--I don’t want--” 

“Ah,” his grandfather said, “likely a wise decision.” 

Laurie swallowed and nodded. 

“I suspect you could have done that without offending the young lady, though.” 

Laurie winced. He knew he was acting ridiculous. He did. But he couldn’t figure out how to allow himself close to her without being overwhelmed, and until he could figure it out, it would be best for everyone that they kept their distance. 

“It’s great to want to protect the people we love, Laurie. But you can’t make a decision like this unilaterally, without giving Amy any explanation.” 

“You’re right,” Laurie said, “I’m an idiot.” 

“You’re young,” his grandfather declared jovially, “mistakes like this are bound to happen. Now you go apologize to her first thing in the morning, when she’s had time to cool down, and do as much grovelling as necessary to get back in her good graces and you can figure out a solution to your little problem together. How does that sound?” 

Laurie chuckled. “That sounds good.” 

“Great,” the older man said, “and with that, I am heading to bed. Goodnight, Laurie.” 

“Goodnight, grandpa.” Laurie watched him go but did not follow him inside. Another walk. Yes, another walk was what he needed. Clear his head, try to come up with a good apology that said, “I’m sorry I was an idiot” without saying, “I only did it because I can’t want you an appropriate amount” and “your aunt terrifies me.” 

By the time he made his way to his room (a good apology still eluding him), the night had wound down, most people having retired to their rooms. He paused at Amy’s door. He could knock and attempt to speak with her now, make sure there were no hard feelings before the night was over. But she was likely preparing for bed and the two of them without a chaperone at this time of night would not be good for anyone. He turned away. He would have to wait until morning to speak with her. 

A startled yelp came from Amy’s room followed by a crash. Laurie burst through her door, searching frantically for an intruder and seeing no one. 

“Amy? What is it? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” 

Amy stood staring at him over her collapsed easel. “Laurie? What are you doing here?” 

“I heard a crash.” He said, looking her over for sign of injury. 

“The cat,” Amy gestured to a red mop of fur that was staring unrepentantly back up at them. “Startled me.”

He blinked down at the cat. “Oh.” 

The cat gave him an unamused look before slinking towards him, moving leisurely past his feet and out of the room. 

“He probably belongs to one of the guests.” 

“Yes, I gathered as much.” Amy said.

Laurie’s head snapped up at the coldness in her voice. He opened his mouth to say something but it was at that moment that he fully took her in. Amy was in her underclothes, her hair loose and wet around her shoulders, a damp patch on her clothes from her hair. His mouth went dry. His throat closed up. Oh, heavens. 

“Laurie?” 

He shook his head to clear it. “Y—yes?” 

“Was that all?” 

“Yes,” Laurie swallowed. 

She pursed her lips. “You may go, then.” 

And that was as effective as a bucket of water on him. 

“Amy,” he stepped closer. “I’m sorry about tonight. Don’t be mad at me, please.” 

She lifted her chin, fixing him with a look he was sure she’d learned from her aunt. “Why did you give me the cut tonight?” 

Laurie’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t giving you the cut, Amy, I swear. I was just--” 

“If you want your space, you only have to ask. You don’t have to--” 

He took her hand in his. “That’s not it at all. Please, just let me explain.” 

She took her hand back and crossed her arms in front of her, drawing Laurie’s eyes to exactly where he was avoiding. 

“Go on. I’m listening.” 

“Uh—”

“Laurie? What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” She asked, any coldness gone from her voice and replaced with concern. 

“Could—could you put something on please?” 

She blinked, and looked down at herself. “Oh!” She hurried over to her bed, the material of her dress clinging to her as she reached for her robe and shrugged it on, tying it tightly around her. “There, that’s better.” 

Sure. Sure it was. Except that the robe wasn’t particularly thick and he knew what was under it and her hair was still cascading around her in wet ringlets he wanted to reach out and touch. 

“Laurie,” She prodded when he still said nothing, “I’m waiting.” 

He shook himself out of his stupor again. “Right.” He licked his lips. “I know I was acting strange tonight. And I’m sorry, I was just trying to do the right thing. See, Aunt March spoke to me today and she made me realize that the way we have been carrying on can be...inappropriate for two people who are not married and that if we are not careful, things could... get out of hand.” 

Amy frowned. “We’re only kissing.” 

“Yes, and that would be fine, if kissing was all I wanted.” 

“Is it not?” 

Laurie bit back a groan. He was the worst. “No, no, it’s not.” 

“What is it you want? I don’t understand.” 

“Amy,” he took a death breath and let it out with a whoosh. “I want to be with you.” At her blank look, he continued, “in the way of a man and wife. In the biblical sense, Amy.” 

“Oh.” 

He flushed and looked away. He was a demon. An outrageous demon.

“Well, I should hope so, Laurie.” His gaze snapped back at her. “We are to be married, after all.” 

“You—what?” 

She took a breath. “Laurie, I will admit that I don’t know much about that particular part of marriage, save for what my mother and my sister have explained to me. But, I will say that I too have been looking forward to our wedding night.”

Laurie couldn’t breathe. Was he dreaming? Had he knocked his head somewhere? Was he dead? 

Amy continued as though Laurie wasn’t standing in front of her, having a small crisis. “So while I understand and appreciate your concern, you don’t have to feel guilty about it, Laurie.”

“Right.” He said, because his brain was irreparably broken. 

“Good. I’m glad we had that out. Now,” she placed her hands on her hips, “I trust that took care of any silly notions about keeping your distance from me for the duration of our engagement?” 

A laugh left him in a puff. “Yes.” 

“Good,” She said again, “in which case,” she took a step toward him, a predatory glint in her eye, “I think you better kiss me.” 

She was in her _underclothes_. 

“I don't think that would be such a good idea,” he said, taking a step back. 

She took another step towards him. “Why?”

“Someone could see,” he croaked. 

“No one will see,” she promised. 

His back hit the door. She pressed herself against him.

She captured his lips with her own and he groaned, his mouth falling open and ready for her onslaught. 

This time there were no hoop skirts between them, no yards of fabric. He could feel the heat of her body as she crowded him against the door, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. 

A hand trailed up his side, cupping the back of his head, before tangling in his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp. 

He groaned again, melting against her. His arms around her waist tightened and he slipped a thigh between her legs. 

The hand in his hair tightened and tugged. _Hard_. 

Oh— _oh_. 

Amy moaned and shifted so slightly against him and he—

He started. Oh, _no_. 

He pulled away. “Amy, we have to stop.” 

She pulled him back down for another kiss. 

“Amy--” He tried in between kisses. She tugged at his hair again and his knees buckled. Why was he resisting? Why--she shifted against him again. Oh. 

“Amy--stop.” 

This time when he pushed gently, she went. “You’re right. We should stop.” 

“I should go.” He said. 

She nodded, but didn’t release him, and he made no move to leave either. 

They stood there a moment more, foreheads touching, before Amy suddenly stiffened in his arms, pulling back enough so she could gaze down between them. “Laurie?” 

Laurie flushed. “I’m sorry, I tried—-” 

She stared down at where he was tenting in his trousers as though she couldn’t hear him. Slowly, she lowered her hand from where it was on his shoulder and—-

He snatched her wrist in his hand. “Amy, no, please. If you do that, I will lose my mind.” 

She pulled away with a squeak. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” 

He dropped his head back against the door, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. “Don’t be sorry. But this was what I was afraid of. Things getting out of hand between us.” 

She nodded, but still didn’t move away. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I never imagined I could be so wanton. I can’t seem to stop myself with you.” 

Laurie made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “You can’t say that, _please_. Not when I’m trying so hard to be good.” 

She giggled despite herself. “Forgive me, my Lord.” 

He had to bite back another groan because it was just not fair for her to stand there dressed like that, flushed from his kiss, hair loose and tousled from his hands, and calling him ‘my Lord’ in that voice. 

She laughed into his neck and he shuddered again. 

He had to leave before they both lost their senses. 

Quickly, though gently, he pushed her way, grabbing the door and putting himself on the other side of it before shutting it. 

“Goodnight, Amy!” He called softly. 

There was another giggle. “Goodnight, Laurie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading everyone! Thanks to everyone again who is supporting the story by leaving kudos or comments or bookmarking. I have a new rule that I’m only allowed to read the comments once I’m 90% done with a chapter so it is a very nice reward system :) 
> 
> About this chapter: My new favourite thing is Laurie getting the shovel talk from Aunt March. Pretty much nothing else about this chapter mattered to me. Laurie’s a bit of an idiot here, but I thought it was an in-character/organic idiocy? Also -- how do hotels in 1860s work, guys? I don’t know. I thought about doing research (reading the book for more accurate idea of what they did/were up to and also life in London in the late 1800s) but ultimately decided against it because I have literally no time. There aren’t a lot of resources that would tell you whether hotel guests had dinner together in a single hall. Based on some period dramas and some historical romance novels, I made the executive decision that they did all eat together. Also--also--do you guys know how hard it is to try to be reasonably realistic with how people spoke back then? It’s obviously not great how they’re speaking right now but I don’t necessarily care enough for accuracy enough to subject myself to the post-Civil War English grammar. However, I do draw the line at using words that have obviously not been invented in that particular time and place. So, as much as I wanted Laurie’s brain to short-circuit, guess what? _They absolutely did not have the vocabulary for that._
> 
> re Tags: I thought it would be pretty obvious when it came to it what I should be tagging but I’m drawing a blank. If anyone has any suggestions or anything you’d like tagged, let me know? 
> 
> Finally: My personal ship name for these two has become Laurdie (Lord and Lady but then Lordy became Laurdie, because, duh, Laurie). It’s a ridiculous name and I’m sorry for who I am. 
> 
> P.S. I can’t believe my first chapter was, like, 900 words? And this chapter is like 4,000 words. I think the remainder of the chapters for this story will be closer to the 1k mark but jeez. Mah bad. 
> 
> P.P.S. I didn’t have time to re-read and edit (again) so I’ll probably be going in and making edits _ex post_ (or is it _post hoc_ ? Or is _neither_ ?) I think the pacing is off for a lot of spots here so they’ll have to be fixed but I want this chapter up and I have a closing tomorrow I need to prep for.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back :)

Theodore Laurence was dying, and he would like to have it noted for posterity that it was all the fault of Amy Curtis March. 

Somehow, since their little interlude in her room, she'd gone and become more enticing. 

She'd drop something and in the process of picking it up, provide Laurie with the most stunning view of her neckline. She'd reach for an object out of her reach, and Laurie would be treated to the long lines of her body. She'd turn the corner too quickly and crash straight into him, pressing their bodies together as she took her time in de-tangling their limbs. She'd—

"Amy!"

She'd trip and fall straight. Into. His. Lap.

Laurie made a strangled sound, as his hands flew up to her waist to hold her steady. 

"Sorry!" Amy said, arms flailing, body squirming against his. "Sorry, I'm so sorry." 

"Ow—Amy—" —please stop moving like that— "—Amy get off."

"I can't, my pin is stuck to your shirt."

His eyes almost rolled to the back of his head with the way she moved as she tried to untangle lace and pin and ribbon—the clothes ladies wore, the Lord save them all—and in the process ran her hands all over his chest.

A moment of frantic movements ensued as they tried to extricate themselves to no avail. 

"Oh, for the love of—hold on." 

He huffed and collected her hands before giving a not-so-gentle tug and suddenly—"Oof!" 

For a moment, Laurie lay still on the floor, face smushed against his fiancée's chest. He wondered idly what exactly he'd done in his life to deserve this new and creative form of torture. 

"Um, Laurie, are you okay?" 

No, I want to die, he wanted to tell her. I want to die because all I want to do is run my tongue all over the skin right here. I want to lower your bodice and drink in the view. I want to raise your skirt and wrap your legs around me and just bury myself in you. 

But it was 11 am and they were in a crowded hotel and they were not married and who knows who could walk in? Death was his only option. 

Her hand reached up to tug at his hair. "Laurie?" 

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." 

He took a deep breath and slowly, carefully, rose up to hover over Amy. 

She gave a small smile, blinking up at him, blue eyes big and wide. "Hello." 

A small smile tugged. How could he be irritated at her? "Hi." He reached up to brush her hair out of her eyes. "Are you alright?" 

"Yes, I'm sorry I'm so clumsy." 

He hummed and stood, extending a hand to pull her up after him.

"No harm done," Laurie said, stepping back so she could adjust her clothes. "No one was around to see anything." 

She raised her head slightly from where she was adjusting her dress and smiled, gazing up at him through her lashes. "We wouldn't want that, would we?" 

"N—no." 

She tugged gently at his lapel and he stumbled towards her, heart beating frantically. She pulled him down for a kiss that was, to his mind, far more tempting than it had a right to be.

"I suppose I should leave before we get ourselves in trouble," Amy said when she finally pulled away. 

He cleared his throat. "I suppose." 

She dipped into a deep curtsy. "Good afternoon, then, my Lord." 

It was only by chance that he saw her reflection in a nearby mirror as she was walking away. She was smiling. Smug. Satisfied. Victorious. Like the cat that ate the godforsaken canary.

"Oh, that—that—" 

She was doing it all on purpose. 

She was doing it all on purpose. 

She was _doing it all on purpose._

Well.

***

Very well. She was doing it on purpose.

That was fine. 

Sure, his future wife was proving to be far more devious than he'd known, but he could...

He could—

—Well, what could he do? 

Tell Aunt March or his grandfather? Not bloody likely. 

He couldn't confront her about it—he'd have to admit her evil ploy was working. He couldn't let her _win_ whatever game she was playing. 

Well...

Two could play at that game.

***

Step 1 in giving Amy Curtis March a taste of her own medicine: Flirt outrageously with Amy in a place where she couldn't get too close to him.

Step 2: Request Amy's company for the day with an appropriate but lenient chaperone. Jordie Tuppin’s aunt would do. 

Step 3: Get swindled into a shopping trip with the ladies. 

Step—Wait.

***

Amy walked arm in arm with her friend down the streets of London and smiled to herself. The day was sunny and cloudless, and she was spending it looking at beautiful things with her friends. Sure, poor Laurie hadn't known what hit him when he'd realized he'd just agreed to go shopping, but he seemed to be enjoying himself well enough now as he trailed behind them with Mason Ruus.

"Is Mr.Lau—Laurie feeling unwell?" 

Amy looked at Jordie. "Why?" 

"I don't know, he seems to be acting...strange." 

Amy pursed her lips to keep her smile in check. Wouldn't do to let Jordie Tuppins know what she's been up to. Sweet as she was, the girl didn't have a discreet bone in her body. "Oh I'm sure whatever it is, he'll be over it soon." 

Jordie shrugged and pointed to a nearby shop. "Shall we go in?" 

There was a small whine from behind them and Amy looked over her shoulder. "Something wrong, Laurie?" 

Laurie gave her a look; half-pleading, half-fed-up. It was a look she’d seen on him often when they were growing up. "It's the fourth millinery shop, Amy. If you haven't found a good hat yet, I don't think you'll be finding it here. Besides, I thought you wanted to see the department store." 

"Oh," Jordie said, stepping back. "I beg your pardon, my lords. Perhaps—"

"Not at all, my Lady," Mr. Ruus said, "we shall be happy to await your return here."

"You are most kind, Mr. Ruus." 

"It is my utmost pleasure, my Lady." 

Jordie simpered, Mason puffed up. Amy made a face. Ugh. Is this what young couples were supposed to do? She herself placed a certain paramountcy on proper and ladylike behaviour (she was sure that Jo would have something to say to Amy's preferred epithet of "my Lord" for Laurie) but she certainly hoped she and Laurie never sounded like _that_. Over a hat shop, of all things.

She chanced a look at Laurie. A little giggle escaped her to see him wearing a similar look on his face. 

Thankfully, the other two didn’t notice—too busy doing whatever strange courting ritual they were doing—but Laurie’s eyes flickered to her. A slow grin made its way on his lips and he gave her a small wink. She hid her next bout of giggles behind her hand. 

"Why have you all stopped?" Jordie’s aunt asked. She’d been trailing behind to give the group some privacy, but they’d loitered enough that she’d caught up now, frowning. 

"No reason, Eloise," Amy said, composing herself, "you heard Mr. Ruus, Laurie. You'll be fine. We'll go to the department store in our own time." 

Laurie groaned but followed behind her.

***

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Amy looked up at the shopgirl who was doing a terrible job of not looking like a predator with easy prey. The bonnet was exquisite enough that Amy couldn’t bring herself to care. Besides, a predatory shopgirl was infinitely preferable to a stoic, superior, and all-told insufferable shop _man_. Truly, everything, from the staff to the displays of H. Glasse & Co., was a revelation. 

She ran her fingers along it again and bit back a sigh. "It's lovely," she admitted. 

"Would you like me to wrap it for you, Miss?"

"No," Amy said, handing the hat back to the girl, "thank—"

"Yes, she would." 

Amy startled as Laurie appeared next to her. "Laurie, what—"

He held out a card. "Please have it sent to this address."

"No," Amy said, but the shopgirl had snatched the card before Amy could reach it. 

"There is a lovely dress to match with it," the shopgirl said, eyes gleaming, "would you like to see it?"

"Yes, please." 

"No—no, thank you, really,"—Amy gave Laurie a cross look as she tried to wave off whatever the girl was doing—"Please don’t trouble yourself. We’re not staying in London much longer, the dress won’t be ready in time. We won’t—oh." 

Amy blinked at the mannequin the girl had just pushed in front of her. 

Oh, it was _lovely._

"Do you like it, Miss?" 

"I really do," she said, entranced. 

"Great, we’ll—"

She shook herself out of it. She could only imagine the cost of it. "No. No, thank you. As I said, we won’t be in London long enough to have the dress made." 

"No need, Miss," the shopgirl said, "the dress is already made. All you need is to have it tailored to your measurements." 

Amy looked at her. "Already made?" 

"Yes, Miss. Ready-made clothes are going to be the new fashion." 

"What a perfectly strange idea." 

"Will you be liking it, Miss? We can take your measurements and you could have the dress by the end of the week." 

"I suppose." Well, one dress wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps they could call it a wedding present. 

"Great." Laurie clapped his hands. "We'll take three of those dresses. In whatever colours you have." 

Amy gasped and swatted him not-so-lightly on his arm.

"Stop that," she chided, turning back to the sales girl. "One, please." 

"Three."

"One."

"Three." 

"One—" Amy shot a smile at the bewildered girl and pulled Laurie to the side. 

"What are you doing?" she hissed at him. 

He grinned. "Buying my fiancée a new dress." 

"Fine. A dress—one. Which is _exactly_ how many I'm getting." 

"What's the point of a rich husband, Amy, if you don't let him spend his money?" 

"Oh, stop it. You know I'm not marrying you so you could buy me pretty dresses." 

"Yes, of course," he said, "but since I _can_ buy you pretty dresses why don't you let me?" 

"Because it's too much!" 

"It's not!" Laurie said. 

She frowned, somewhat comically, she assumed because he laughed softly at her. 

He reached up to cup her face gently. "Please, Amy, let me do this?" 

Her resolve crumpled. "Well, alright, but three copies of the same dress is nonsensical, Laurie. Even in different colours." 

"Very well, you pick two other dresses. I'm sure the girl will appreciate the commission and the sale would be a testament to the presence of shopgirls everywhere." Ah, so he had been listening in the carriage as the ladies had discussed the Glasse's staff. "Are we in agreement?" 

She sighed. "Very well, if you insist." 

Laurie laughed again. "Amy March being strong-armed into shopping. If your sisters could hear you now, they wouldn’t recognize you." 

"Go away," Amy said, her glare somewhat ruined by her wide smile, "and stop bothering me." 

He put up his hands as he walked away. "I’m going, I’m going." 

"He seemed like a nice young man. Is he your husband, Miss? If you don’t mind me asking." 

"My fiancé. Now, do you have any other dresses to show me?" 

She gave a devilish smile. "Why, yes, Miss. Have you ever heard of a tea gown?"

***

"Amy?" Jordie said as she surveyed herself in the mirror, her newest necklace sitting proudly and regally around her neck.

"Yes, dear?" 

"May I ask you a question?" 

"Of course," she said, holding out the matching earrings. 

Jordie took the box but put it to the side. "It's about your relationship with Mr. Laurence—Laurie, I mean."

"What about it?" 

"How are you—that is, does he mind—why—" 

"...Yes?" 

She threw up her hands. "Well, does he mind how you treat him?" 

Amy blinked. "How I treat him?" 

"It's so...informal. So familiar. So, um, I don't know, coarse?" She winced apologetically at that last word. 

Well, this was certainly the first time Amy had ever been accused of being _coarse._

"It's just the way you speak to him," Jordie added in a rush, "I saw you hitting him in the store." 

"Hitting—? _Oh._ " Amy flushed at the thought of someone actually witnessing her display at the store. That was mortifying. In fairness, her fiancé's lack of financial sense had momentarily robbed her of her own sense of decorum. "There were extenuating circumstances. He was being unreasonable. Anyway, I didn't hit him _that_ hard." 

"Still...I can't imagine ever being so comfortable with Mr. Ruus." 

"Is something wrong between the two of you?" 

"No," Jordie said, as she sighed and sat down. She looked defeated, poor girl. "I just...I can't figure out how to make him more comfortable around me. To stop being so—"

Frigid, Amy thought. 

"—formal. I think he wants to propose, but whatever I do, he holds me at a distance. I was wondering how, how you and Laurie managed it. And if he minds?" 

"He certainly doesn't mind," Amy said. She spared a brief thought to his first choice in brides, whose mannerisms would have no doubt given Jordie a small fright. "Laurie and I are different. I've known him since I was a child. You and Mr. Ruus will reach that someday, if you want to, once you’re married. But—"

"—If he ever decides to propose—" Jordie said, rolling her eyes.

"—but I'm not sure acting like us is the problem, Jordie." 

Jordie stayed silent, then said, "I just want him to think of me as something less...delicate. I'd settle for him calling me Jordie, instead of Lady Jordana or Miss Tuppins for now." 

"Has he given any indication of his affections?" 

"I know he likes me, Amy. Well, at least I think he does." She sighed again. A sigh: the sign of a person in love. "You know Mr. Ruus made his fortune in trade, don't you?" 

"Yes, nothing wrong with good, honest work." Silly British with their antiquated notions of worth. 

The other girl nodded. "Yes, that's what I think, as well. But I think that's what stops him from asking for my hand. That I'm a 'lady' and he's...you know. A tradesman. It's ridiculous." 

"Well," Amy said, "it is possible that given his insecurities, a little _nudge_ from yourself may be what he needs to come forward." 

"A nudge? From me?" 

"Propriety is all well and good, and I'm the first to tout proper ladylike behaviour" — take that, _coarse_ — "but a little boldness wouldn't do you any harm. Just to help him along with things. You won't get anywhere if you blush at the ground each time he speaks with you. Now, finish dressing for dinner. I will see you downstairs." 

"Thank you, Amy," Jordie said softly, as Amy got up to leave the room. "Boldness. You are right. I shall be bold." 

_A plague on both your houses._

_But screw your courage to the sticking-place and we'll not fail._

_Be with me always — take any form — drive me mad!_

All words that foretold a great, big misfortune. 

Amy had no way of knowing it at the time, but the words 'I shall be bold' would be Jordie Tuppins' contribution to that list.

***

" _Coarse_?"

"Laurie, will you stop laughing? It's not funny!" 

" _Coarse_? Those were the words she said? She said 'coarse'? _You_?" 

Amy crossed her arms and glared as Laurie leaned against the wall, almost crying in laughter. 

It took several minutes before his laughter finally sputtered out. 

"Well, if you are quite done. It was mortifying, Laurie. Please stop—"

" _Coarse_?" 

He sank into a new round of laughter. Amy threw up her hands and turned away.

"Who's coarse?" Mr. Laurence said as he walked into the room. 

Still laughing, Laurie pointed at her. "A-Amy." 

Mr. Laurence turned to her with a raised eyebrow. 

Amy flushed. "Great," she snapped at Laurie, "my mortification is complete. If you would like to tell my aunt as well—" 

"Tell me what?" Aunt March said as she stepped into the room. 

Amy glared at the men. "Don't you dare."

Both their mouths snapped shut. 

"Tell me what, Amy?" 

"Oh," Amy said as she helped her aunt to the sofa, "just that we went shopping at Glasse's today and they had shopgirls there. And dresses you could buy right there at the store." 

"Shopgirls? Buying clothes right at the store? Well, now I've heard of everything. I hope you didn't buy anything there, Amy, dear. They do not sound reputable." 

"As a matter of fact, Aunt March, I did. I was even able to bring one of the dresses back from the store. Perfectly ready for me to wear." 

"I don't believe it. Young people want everything fast these days. Fast, fast, fast. Whatever happened to good, Christian patience. Back in my day, it took a full month for a proper dress to be sewn. But they were made to last, I'll tell you that." 

"Of course, Aunt March." 

Still miffed at Laurie, she gave her full attention to her aunt.

***

Laurie held out the bowl of ice cream with a sheepish smile.

Amy raised an eyebrow. "What's this?" 

"A peace offering." 

"Where did you get it?" she said, taking the bowl. 

He shrugged as Amy took a large spoonful. "I snuck into the kitchen. It's Saturday and they make ice cream for Sundays." 

"You stole from the kitchen?" Her words were muffled around her spoon.

"I pilfered." He winked. "Am I forgiven?" 

Having never been truly upset, she was more than happy to forgive when a bowl of ice cream was involved. 

"I suppose." 

He leaned down to give her a small kiss. 

"Well, alright," she said, smiling, then she held up her next spoonful to his lips. He seemed surprised at the gesture, but he opened his mouth readily enough. 

She smiled sweetly as she pulled the spoon back. "That's as much of my ice cream as I'm willing to share. So don't ask." 

Laurie appeared a little dazed, but he shook himself out of it, a slow smile making its way on his way. "Amy March, what would your mother say about sharing?" 

"She would say, Amy, dear, the good Lord does not expect you to share ice cream, and neither do I."

"Hm," Laurie said with a worrying smirk as he walked slowly around her, "I disagree. I think she would say...you should share with your husband!" 

Amy shrieked and ducked out of the way as he lunged, but it was too late, he'd already snatched the bowl. 

"Laurie!" She made an undignified swipe for the ice cream—complete with jumping in the air and all—but her insufferably tall fiancé held it out of her reach. "I thought that was my peace offering." 

"That was before you wouldn't share." 

She made a small sound and jumped again. "This is juvenile." 

"I agree," he told her somberly as he took a dramatic spoonful of the ice cream. 

He wagged the spoon at her when she jumped again. "This is exactly the kind of coarse behaviour that scandalizes Jordie Tuppins, you know." 

Amy's mouth fell open. "Oh, why you—you!" 

"Me." He gave her a mocking smile. 

"You…" 

They were at an impasse. 

He certainly had the upper hand, but she wasn't about to simply let it go. Not when he was mocking her like that. 

She took a deep, deep breath, and felt something settle in her. 

Amy smiled.

Laurie blinked. 

She stepped closer to Laurie, until they were chest to chest.

He lowered his arms. "Uh, Amy, my love?" 

She snaked a hand around his neck and tugged gently. "Yes, my Lord?" 

"What—what are you doing?" 

"What does it look like?" she whispered, then closed the distance between their lips. 

Usually, when Amy kissed Laurie, it started chaste—quick, small kisses—that slowly turned into more. This kiss was not one of those kisses. It was downright _filthy_ , with her hands fisted in Laurie's hair, her tongue plunged immediately into his gasping mouth. There was a clattering and Laurie's hands flew to her waist, moaning as he pulled her closer. 

She tugged harder on his hair.

"Amy," Laurie moaned, sounding wrecked. 

Amy yanked away.

Laurie stared at her, lips red and plump from kissing, eyes glassy, hair disheveled beyond hope. 

"What" —he swallowed and panted— "what was that?" 

Still struggling for her own breath, she forced herself to shrug. "Just showing what else I can do that would scandalize Jordie Tuppins." 

"Wha—" 

She looked down. "Pity, now neither of us gets ice cream." 

He frowned. "What?" 

She turned and walked out of the room as he followed her gaze to the ground and the upended bowl of ice cream. 

"Amy!" 

She laughed and waited until she was out of his sight before she started fanning herself. Laurie certainly knew how to kiss, and the way he responded any time she tugged at his hair or took a little control...it was delicious. How was she supposed to survive the next few months when she was betrothed to Theodore Laurence? 

"Are you alright, dear?" Eloise asked as Amy passed her and Jordie. "You look flushed." 

Amy gave a breathless laugh, that no doubt sounded half-crazed, and said, "Yes, I am perfectly well, Eloise, though I could use some cool, fresh, air. Would you ladies like to accompany me?"

***

He was marrying the devil, yes, but he was in no way going to surrender.

(He was marrying the devil, and he could not be happier about it.)

***

"Laurie, could you help me reach that book, right on the top shelf, here?"

"Yes, of—hmph."

***

There was nothing wrong with a good retreat. Just ask Napoleon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking to this story :) And thank you to everyone who reached out to me during my hiatus to let me know you were looking forward to the next chapter. 
> 
> I had lots of notes explaining the long and crazed chain of events that led to such a long hiatus between updates. In the end, things happened (including my first draft of this chapter getting deleted) and I experienced the worst burnout of my life so far. I'm not sure what my work would have done if we'd actually been essential workers. I'm not joking, this chapter got finished by writing 2 minutes a day before I could build my stamina back up. 
> 
> I was going to wait until Saturday to post this so I had time to proof-read but I couldn't do it. Now that I had a complete chapter, I was too excited to share. 
> 
> This chapter (and the next) weren't part of the originally planned story-arc, but with everything happening in the world, I wanted something happy and fun, as the originally planned chapter goes into Aunt March's illness and a little more about Beth. That'll still come around in Chapter 6 but I'm trying to tone it down. So, if it seems disjointed, that's why. But, I mean, it wasn't exactly Shakespeare. Let's have fun. The story is going to be 6 chapters in total, and have a 7th epilogue chapter. I'm not sure regarding chapter 5, but 6 and 7 will contain NSFW scenes. They've been waiting long enough. 
> 
> Notes on the content of the chapter: 
> 
> -H. Glasse is named after Hannah Glasse who wrote " _The Art Of Cookery Made Plain and Easy_ " but who was at one point in her life also a dressmaker with a shop in Coven Garden. Her business was booming, but she borrowed heavily for it too, so she went bankrupt and was sent to debtors prison. She sold the copyright to her book to pay off that debt. She wrote many other books too, but ultimately never made much money off of them for herself.
> 
> -Department stores didn't really exist in the Selfridge/Harrod's sense until early 20th century. Before then, they were mainly grocery stores and confectioneries. Since in my head this portion of Little Women timeline is taking place circa 1870, I am playing fast and loose with history. As well, prêt-à-porter clothes also did not become widely available until early 20th century. However, in the 2012 TV series, _The Paradise_ , they feature a department store in 1875, much like the way I envision H. Glasse so I figured I can go for it if BBC/Masterpiece aren't too fussed (I loved the first season of that show. Do give it a watch if you haven't seen it. Unfortunately it was overshadowed by Mr. Selfridge and cancelled after 2 seasons and yet I liked it much more).
> 
> -Tea gowns did exist in the 19th century, thankfully, but were a little less pretty in the 1870s, when they first came about, than what I imagine Amy bought. Still, who amongst us would turn down a dress without a corset? And what will poor Laurie do? 
> 
> If anyone wants to get in contact with me, I have an IG account (which, I don't think I've updated for years, but I'm planning to, soon. It'll be mostly writing tips and mini book reviews if I get around to it):
> 
> [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/iimpossible_things/)
> 
> (I hope I linked that right? There's a woman with a Raptor's cap on and like 8 pictures of books). I also have a tumblr account (similar name, with a picture of David Mitchell, I think), but I deleted the tumblr app off my phone a while ago, because it's so distracting and I have limited impulse control. 
> 
> I hope this chapter gives you a bit of escapism. These are truly the times that try men’s souls. 
> 
> I hope you are all safe. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the two-chapter detour I put into the story to make things more cheery. You can honestly feel free to skip this chapter and the story will make just as much sense -- if not more -- without it.

The tea gown was a revelation. 

Amy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was no bonning digging into her ribs, nothing pulling on her chest. She smiled and released her breath. 

Surveying herself in the mirror, Amy thought that the pale blue dress may be her favourite garment to date. Yes, the design left something to be desired—but the _freedom,_ the _movement_... unparalleled. 

She took another deep breath, just because she could. 

"Oh, that is _good_." 

Too bad it wasn't appropriate attire for outside one's home. 

If Laurie ever remained in the same room with her again, perhaps she could show him the gown. Honestly, the man had taken to turning on his heels and hiding the moment he saw her. Even Aunt March was starting to find it strange. 

"Ridiculous."

Alright, she wasn't without fault, obviously. It had been fun at first, tempting him, but now...now she was starting to miss him. She missed his teasing and his smile; the way he would look at her from across the room and they'd both know what the other was thinking. These days, he was too on edge around her to be thinking much of anything, it seemed. 

She turned to view herself from the side and sighed. 

Perhaps it was time for a truce.

Yes, as soon as she had on an appropriate day dress, she would find Laurie and promise to be on her best behaviour from here on out. Absolute best behaviour. Absolute best — 

Her door slammed open. 

"Amy!" 

Amy turned, a hand on her heart. "Good heavens, Jordie. You scared the _life_ out of me. Whatever is the matter?" 

Panting, Jordie held up a hand. Amy watched as she bent over at the waist with her hands clutching her sides, taking deep breaths as though she'd just sprinted a great distance. 

"Jordie? Would you like to have a s—" 

Jordie shook her head. "I—" She took a few more deep breaths then swallowed and straightened. "I need your help." 

***

"Oh, you little _idiot_!" 

Jordie shrank back against Amy. "Aunt Eloise, please calm down—" 

"Calm down? _Calm down_ ? After what you just—you thoughtless—do you have any idea what you've _done?_ what's to become of you—what's to become of _me_?" 

Amy was beginning to regret her decision to ask Eloise to join them in her room and hash out the matter. 

"Of _you_?" Eloise cried. "I'm the one whose reputation will be in tatters, not yours." 

Eloise glared. "I'm an impoverished widow who relies on the good grace of her brother-in-law to keep a roof over her head. Good grace which I'm sure will be in very short supply when he finds out I have allowed his daughter's reputation to fall into ruins. He is surely to _toss me out_ on my ears and into rags. I'm only thirty-two, Jordana. I'm too young to be in rags. You—" 

"Why don't we all just take a deep breath?" Amy cut in before Eloise could gain further steam. "Eloise, please take a seat and I will pour us some tea and Jordie can explain what exactly has happened." 

Eloise glared but sat and took the offered tea cup when Amy held it out to her. 

"Alright," Amy said with an encouraging smile once she judged both ladies calm again. "Why don't you go ahead, Jordie?" 

Jordie took a deep breath. "Well, it started when you told me to be bolder, do you remember, Amy?" 

Eloise sputtered. " _I beg your pardon?"_

Amy flushed and avoided Eloises' gaze. "Yes, but I, uh, dare say you misunderstood my meaning, dear. Never mind that. Do go on." 

"Well, I decided to write Mr. Ruus—" 

Eloise scoffed. "—oh I think you can call him Mason, now—" 

"—and in it I asked him to marry me because I loved him, truly. I also wrote him some other, erm, private yearnings—" 

"How private?" Amy asked. 

Jordie flushed. "Very, very private. I also included a letter from my old beau and I told him that it means nothing at all to me. I placed it in his coat pocket this morning and I thought he would find it later and read it then." 

Jordie paused and took a long sip of her tea.

"But?" Amy prodded. 

Jordie lowered the cup slowly. "But...see Mr. Ruus has a lot of coats." 

"He has three." Amy and Eloise said at the same time. 

Jordie winced. "Well, yes, I suppose. Three. But, well, I was in a rush, I wasn't thinking about it. I simply put it in the coat I thought was his." She looked up at them. "And it definitely wasn't his." Amy and Eloise looked at her in horror. "It was Mr. Garlob's coat." 

The room plunged in silence as Amy and Eloise absorbed the information. 

The clock ticked off the seconds nearby. Outside the window, a bird tapped its beak against the windowsill. 

Finally, Amy ventured to say: "Perhaps there is another Jordana Tuppins staying at this hotel." 

The silence broke. 

At once, Eloise scoffed and Jordie began sobbing.

"It's awful!" Jordie cried. "I'm ruined! I'm _ruined_."

Amy sighed and placed a comforting hand on the younger girl's arm. Jordie wasn't wrong. Mr. Garlob was not a subtle, reasonable, sort of man. If he found such a damning letter, there would be no way it would go unmarked by him. If only there was some way to make sure the man didn't read the letter. If only—

"Wait a minute." Amy sat up. "Didn't Mr. Garlob leave this morning for the tour of that old house?" 

Both aunt and niece stopped and turned to her. 

Jordie blinked. "I don't know. The coat was in the laundry when I put the letter in and it was taken up to his room by a footman." 

"Yes," Amy said, standing up and pacing the room. "Yes, that's right. He went on that tour with some of the other guests. They're not due back until later this evening." She clapped her hands. "So he hasn't _read_ the letter yet. Which means, that if we can retrieve the letter before he returns, he would be none the wiser." 

"Oh." Eloise sighed. "Bless the Lord, we are saved." 

"Perhaps Laurie could—" 

Jordie latched onto her hand. "No, please, don't tell Mr. Laurence. I would be so embarrassed, please." 

"But he could—" 

"No, please, Amy, promise me." 

Amy tutted. "Very well, as you wish." Dislodging the other girl's arm, Amy began walking back and forth, tapping her finger on her chin. "All we have to do is figure out how to steal his room key, sneak into his room, find the coat, and leave the room exactly as it was before he returns home. Right…I might have a plan."

***

Amy enlisted Eloise and Joride to push the coffee table in her room out of the way, before moving her easel in its place. 

"Right," Amy said, pointing with her brush at the figures she'd hastily drawn on her canvas. 

Jordie and Eloise sat primly on the couch, their eyes following the point of her brush obediently as she explained: 

"Jordana, at 11 a.m. you will venture downstairs and ask for coffee. Once you have received the coffee, you will then proceed to make your way to the dining hall. Eloise, at 11 a.m. as well, you will run to the hotel manager and claim you are not able to access your rooms and that you are experiencing lady problems so that you must have your room unlocked. 

"The manager will then proceed to retrieve the hotel master key. You will guide him through the dining hall at 11:05. Jordana once you notice your aunt, you will then spill your coffee on Mrs. Halliday who will then scream up a storm over her dress. Eloise, you will then use that opportunity to pretend a fainting spell. You will fall _onto_ the hotel manager. Eloise, do not give me that look. You will _fall on him_ —" 

"—why can't you faint on him—" 

"—because I am not good at fainting. Now, at this point I will come into the fray and steal the key before I am able to sneak into Mr. Garlob's room. Your only role from then on is to keep a lookout and keep everyone else distracted. Any questions?" 

They shook their heads silently, looking slightly frightened. 

***

Laurie looked around the breakfast room for the fourth time that morning. 

"Something the matter, Laurie?" 

Laurie looked to his grandfather before turning back to his plate. "It's not like Amy to be so late to breakfast." 

"Oh, don't worry about that girl," Aunt March said, cracking her egg with a sharp tap of her spoon. "Last I heard, her new dresses had arrived and she was eager to try them on. Too busy staring at herself in the mirror to worry about mortal needs such as eating, I presume."

Laurie hummed his assent, but a niggling worry remained. Wasn't like Amy to miss a good meal. 

***

"What do you mean you can't find the hotel manager?" Amy hissed. 

Eloise shrugged. "It means I can't find the hotel manager — I've looked for him everywhere, Amy. I can hardly summon him by will alone." 

Amy groaned. 

There was a knock at her door, making her groan again. Good Lord, what now. 

" _What_?"

Jordie poked her head through. "Hello?" 

She took a deep breath. "What is it Jordie?" 

"I got the coffee like you asked." She held up the cup as proof. "But my aunt and the hotel manager never came and now I'm afraid it's cooled." 

Amy rolled her eyes. Moments like these when she really missed her sisters. "I suppose that the plan will need to be reassessed. Come on in." 

***

Amy did not appear when they cleared breakfast. She did not appear when they took away the coffee. She did not even appear an hour after that. 

"Don't worry so much, boy," his grandfather said, "perhaps it is female troubles that ail her. Come and play some cards." 

"Perhaps," Laurie agreed. If she was not feeling well, then perhaps he could be of assistance somehow. Unless, of course, it was another ploy to get him alone and drive him crazy. It wasn't entirely out of character for her. Still, he would rather that be the case rather than Amy feeling ill...on her own...

Sighing, Laurie stood and made his excuses before making his way towards Amy's room. He was only half way there when a flash of blonde hair caught his eyes. Inexplicably, relief flooded him. 

"Amy!" 

She darted past him without a backwards glance. "Not now, Laurie, can't talk!" 

Laurie blinked. 

***

_Where could one measly hotel manager possibly disappear off to?_ Amy thought to herself as she threw open every door in her way. 

"Anything?" Eloise hissed from somewhere above her. 

Amy stuck her head out over the stair banner and tried to whisper back: "Nothing here. You?" 

"Nothing here. The whole floor is empty." 

"Keep loo—" 

"Is everything alright, Amy?" 

Amy yelped and turned as Eloise ducked out of sight. "Laurie!" 

Laurie frowned and she forced herself to smile. "You startled me." 

Still looking dubious he walked over to the bannister and craned his neck. "Who are you talking to?" 

"Nobody," Amy said, tugging him back. "Is there something the matter?" 

"You missed breakfast," Laurie said, "I worried." 

This time, her smile was not forced at all. The sweet man. "I'm fine, Laurie. Just didn't have an appetite this morning." 

"Well, I saved you some sweets, if you'd like." He held out his arm, and Amy, unable to think of any reason why she could decline, reluctantly placed her hand on his arm, and allowed him to lead her away. 

***

"Are you sure you're quite well, Amy, dear?" 

Amy chewed her cake and mustered a smile for her future father-in-law. "Yes, thank you, only tired." 

"Well, then, perhaps some refreshment and rest would not be amiss?" 

Amy would have happily taken him up on his offer if she didn't think that would bring more attention to her at the moment. "I will be alright, thank you." 

Apparently satisfied with that answer, the older man smiled at her kindly and returned to his seat. Amy took the opportunity to survey the room and look for her exit. There was her aunt, speaking with Mrs. Halliday and Mrs. Thorp. There was Laurie, playing cards with Mr. Ruus and a few other gentlemen. Servants milled about serving drinks, while an imperious looking man oversaw everything. No one was looking at her. She could probably chance to leave quietly if— 

"Amy!" 

Her head snapped towards the door. Eloise and Jordie stood with their heads poking out from behind the wall. They waived their hands wildly and frantically mouthed words that Amy couldn't understand.

Amy frowned and—with a quick glance around the room to make sure she was not being watched—mouthed back: "What?" 

Eloise pointed at the stern looking man and once again moved her lips to form silent words. 

Amy shook her head. "What?" 

"The master key," Eloise finally hissed, pointing at the man again. 

Amy followed her gaze to a gold set of keys that was hooked on the man's waistcoat. 

_Oh_. 

Amy looked around her. Well, how was she to get at the key now, exactly? "Um." 

She waived tentatively at the man. His gaze swept over her indifferently. She waived again. He gave the slightest nod to a maid who scurried quickly towards Amy. 

"I'm fine, thank you," she said, waiving off the younger woman and looking back at who she assumed was the hotel manager. He didn't look back at her. 

She shrugged helplessly over at her friends. Eloise waived her arms. Amy gestured back just as urgently, pointing to her aunt, her fiancé and her future father-in-law — what did they expect her to do at this moment, exactly?

Still gesturing back and forth, Amy and Eloise did not notice when Jordie squared her shoulders and marched into the room, strides determined, until she had walked to the center of the room and seized the teapot. 

Amy and Eloise watched with wide eyes as, with a flare that would have made her a successful actress, Jordie feigned a twist of her ankle and upended the entire contents of the teapot on poor Mrs. Halliday's head. 

A silence took over the room for exactly one beat before chaos erupted: Mrs. Halliday started screaming, people rushed towards them, Jordie started apologizing loudly, and objects started flying about the room almost of their own volition. 

Sensing her opportunity, Amy shot to her feet, and hastened towards the hotel manager who had lost all composure and was attempting to restore order, without much success. 

"I beg your pardon," she said mildly, "I am suddenly very faint." 

She swayed and threw herself directly on top of him. 

***

"Amy!" 

A hand tugged on her arm. Amy resisted the pull as she tried to surreptitiously snag the set of keys from the man's coat. The keys did not budge.

She tugged again. 

"Amy?" Laurie said again, shaking her gently. 

"Give the girl some room," Aunt March said, "stop crowding her!" 

Laurie pulled gently at her arm again. _For the love of..._ another tug and the keys loosened, but not enough for Amy to slip them in her pocket. She needed —

Someone stuck smelling salts under her nose. Amy winced and coughed, flinching away from it. 

Laurie seized the opportunity to lift her up and take her into his arms. "Amy, are you alright? Are you injured? What happened?" 

"Oh, um." Amy swayed a little for the effect, before she looked up at a worried Laurie. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened. I think I was overheated. Is that poor man alright?" 

They all turned to the hotel manager, who had not moved. 

"He must have hit his head," someone said. 

Amy winced. She had not thought she could injure the man.

"We should move him somewhere he can recover," Mr. Ruus said and Laurie nodded. 

"Yes," said one of the footmen, hurrying forward. "We will arrange to have him moved at once—" 

"No!" 

Almost at once, everyone in the room turned to her with bewildered eyes. 

Amy smiled nervously and cleared her throat. "It is my fault that he has been injured, after all. I would hate to think of him being sent somewhere...uncomfortable." She turned imploring eyes to Laurie. "Please?" 

Laurie tilted his head and Amy tensed. The problem with knowing your soon-to-be husband your whole life was that he knew almost every trick in your book. And something Amy had done had tipped him off. 

Amy flushed under his inspection and moved her gaze to a spot just over his shoulder, before saying again, "Please?" 

A moment passed before, very slowly, Laurie turned to the footman and said, "Perhaps he could rest in my room upstairs?" 

The footman opened his mouth, but Amy quickly jumped in before he could say anything. "Yes, perfect!" 

Laurie narrowed his eyes again. Amy cleared her throat and said demurely, "And—and I will go rest in my room as well."

"Oh, yes, you poor dear," Eloise said, taking her by the arm and tugging her away. "Of course, you must rest."

Amy dropped her gaze meekly as she let herself be led out from the room by Eloise. At the doorway, she chanced a glance back over her shoulder. 

Laurie was watching them. 

***

Amy waited until she was safely sequestered in her room for a full five minutes before she poked her head out into the hallway. Seeing no one there, she slowly tiptoed out and snuck towards Laurie's room. Thankfully, the rooms were not so far from each other that she risked detection, and by the time she heard anyone in the hallway, she was already at his door. 

Slowly, carefully, she opened the door to Laurie's room and stuck her head inside. The hotel manager lay prone on Laurie's bed. 

_Yes!_

As silently as she could, she moved inside and closed the door. 

" _Please_ don't wake up," Amy said to the man as she reached for him. Quick in and out — she would barely even have to touch him. "Just need the keys, and I will be gone." 

She patted his side where the keys were. 

There was nothing there. 

Frowning, she patted the same spot again. Nothing. 

"What in the —?"

She swung aside his waistcoat and gasped. 

The keys were gone. 

What if someone else had taken them? What if — what if they'd fallen somewhere, lost?

If they had, she had no hope. 

With a deep breath, Amy fell to her knees and began haphazardly patting about the floor, hoping her hands — if not her eyes — would help her find the keys. The chances that they were in the room were small, but she was not willing to give up without hope. 

"Well, this is certainly a surprise."

Amy froze. 

Very, very slowly she lifted her head. 

Laurie stood by the entrance, leaning against the doorway. 

"Laurie! What a — what are you doing here?"

He raised an eyebrow. "In my own room?" 

Amy gave a nervous laugh and huffed a few loose strands of her hair out of her face. "There is a _very_ good explanation for this." 

Laurie crossed his arms. "I should love to hear it." 

A beat. 

"Right." She cleared her throat and rose to her feet, dusting off her hands. "Well, it's like this—I was looking for something and — "

Laurie held up the set of keys. "These, perhaps?" 

Amy's breath caught. "How—how—?" 

Laurie took a step closer, swinging the keys in his hand. "It took me a moment to place why the scene downstairs was suspicious, but you forget I've seen you fake fainting before, Amy. All of those plays when we were younger....you were always so scared of injury. Once I've figured out that you were acting downstairs, it wasn't too difficult to figure out what you were after." He held up the keys, but then swiped them away when Amy reached for them. "What I can't figure out, however, is why." 

Amy reached for the keys again. "Yes, and I will tell you when —" 

There was a clamouring outside of carriages arriving with voices raised jovially. 

She stopped and frowned. Voices she recognized. 

Laurie raised an eyebrow at her abrupt cut off. "Yes?" 

Amy held up her hand.

"...Amy?" 

"S _hh_."

Laurie waited a beat, before he tried again: "Amy—" 

She sprinted over to the windows. "Is that the tour party coming back?" 

"Yes, I expect it is." 

She whirled around. "Mr. Garlob was with them, was he not?" 

"Yes, I believe he was. Why?" 

She sprinted back to the door, shoving past Laurie. "That's not enough time." 

"Enough time for what?" 

***

"Not enough time for picking the lock on Mr. Garlob's door, and committing theft? Are you _mad?_ "

"We didn't pick the lock, we had a key," Amy said as she riffled through Mr. Garlob's desk. "And it's not stealing. It's reclaiming." 

Laurie huffed from the other side of the door. "Well, I feel better." He stuck his head inside to glare at her. "It is a comfort to know I'm only the lookout for — I doubt whatever you're looking for is in _there,_ Amy." 

"Never mind where I look, Laurie, keep your eye on the door, please." 

Rolling his eyes, Laurie turned back to his 'work'. 

He frowned when he heard voices approaching — one of which he recognized as distinctly Mr. Garlob's voice. 

"Hurry, I think he's coming." 

"Hang on." 

He waited a few more seconds. The voices drew closer. 

"Amy." 

"One moment!" 

The voices were just at the stairs. A few more moments and they would be found. 

"Amy, now!" 

A moment of terrifying silence and then Amy was before him, grinning triumphantly and holding up an envelope. "Got it!" 

The victory was short-lived as they both heard Mr. Garlob's voice drifting closer. 

" — these old London homes are all the same, I find." 

Looking at each other in wide-eyed horror, they turned slowly towards the stairs, where they could just make the top of Mr. Garlob's head as he got even closer. 

Amy latched on to Laurie's hand. "Run!" 

Of course, there was nowhere to run. Three steps forward, and they were simply getting closer to Mr. Garlob and his companion. Three steps back and they were back in Mr. Garlob's room. There was nothing else in this corridor — no other hallways. Just doors. And they couldn't exactly break into a random patron's door. 

"Try the doors!" 

Desperately, Amy tried one door, then another and then another. She glanced back over her shoulder to where Mr. Garlob had stopped to admire a painting in the hall. If he looked slightly to the left, he would see her straight away. 

She tried another door, then the next and the next — it gave way. 

"Laurie, in here!" She reached for him and then swung both of them inside, shutting the door just as Mr. Garlob passed by.

Amy shut her eyes in relief, sagging against the door. 

They were saved. 

"What the devil?" Mr. Garlob barked. 

Amy stopped breathing. 

"Everything alright, Mr. Garlob?" Called out the man's companion. 

"My door was open." 

"Do you mean to say someone broke into your room? Is anything missing?" 

A long pause as Amy waited with her bated breath.

"No...No, I don't believe so. I'm not accustomed to remembering to lock my own door, it seems. Usually we have the servants for these matters." 

The two men chatted for a few moments more before bidding each good afternoon, the matter of the door completely forgotten. 

Amy let out the breath. "Alright, I think we're safe." 

"Are we?" 

"I don't think he knows anyone was in his room." She drew back from the door, smoothing out the front of her dress. "We should wait until he's left his room again before we leave, I think." 

"Great. Gives you enough time to explain what all _that_ just was." 

There was something in his tone that had Amy's spine stiffening. Very, very slowly, she looked over at him. 

Laurie stared back at her, arms crossed in front of him. 

Amy sighed. "You won't believe this." 

***

As Laurie listened to the improbable series of events that had led to him being locked in a storage closet with his fiancé, he felt his irritation slowly dissipate and replaced with amusement. 

"And obviously we — and you're laughing. Why are you laughing?" 

Laurie smiled and reached up to brush her cheek. 

She flushed but continued glaring. "What's so amusing?" 

"You," Laurie said, "Amy March, so determined to be a lady, and yet always such a troublemaker." 

Amy rolled her eyes. "Don't tell my mother." 

"Oh your mother is well aware, I'm sure." He wound a strand of her hair around his finger, and pulled her closer. "It's me who forgets sometimes. What am I going to do with you?" 

She smiled. "Marry me?" 

"I plan to," Laurie said before closing the gap between their lips. 

The kiss was short but sweet and they were both smiling when they pulled apart. 

A peaceful quiet settled between them before, suddenly, Laurie laughed. 

"What is it?" 

"It's Jordana. That unbelievably silly girl." Laurie said, shaking his head. 

Amy smiled. "We've all acted foolishly when in love, I think." 

"True. But to include a letter from her _old suitor_ of all things." 

"Well," Amy said, biting her bottom lip in thought, "enticing a person's jealousy is hardly the worst idea."

"No sensible man is going to be enticed into marriage by jealousy, Amy," Laurie said, his tone just patronizing enough to make Amy set her jaw. "And you have to admit, if she's still accepting letters from an old suitor, she can hardly be certain in her relationship with Mason."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Oh, who hasn't received a letter from an old beau every once in a while. You can hardly blame Jordie for it." 

Lauries stopped. "What does that mean?" 

"Uh." Amy blinked. "Nothing." 

"That wasn't—" He crossed his arms. "Has Fred Vaughan been sending you letters?" 

"No," she said quickly, then said, "yes. Maybe. One or two, perhaps." 

"Well, which was it? One or two?" 

She sighed. "Laurie. Don't be ridiculous now." 

"I'm not being ridiculous. Who is behind ridiculous? I don't see anyone ridiculous.” He said, rambling. “What did the letters say?" 

Amy took a deep breath. "He wrote once to offer his condolences about Beth, then again to offer to escort me and Aunt March home if we required it." 

"Oh, I bet he'd have liked that," Laurie said, "and in return, you were to...what? Marry him?" 

"Laurie!" Amy admonished. "Fred is a good man, you know that. He offered it as a gesture from a friend. Nothing more." 

Laurie scoffed. 

"Don't do that." Amy snapped at him. She could tell him that the letters were from prior to Laurie's return and their engagement, but that wasn't the point, was it? "This is—"

"Who else is sending you letters—any other former suitors I should worry about?" 

"As a matter of _fact,_ I don't have any other old suitors, which you very well know."

"Well, thank goodness for that, otherwise we'd have the whole post office here taking up the hotel room." To save his life, Laurie could not say what had happened to him at the moment. All he could think of was how close he'd been to losing Amy and how Fred was the spectre that would try to take her away again. 

"I suggest you stop talking right _now_ , Theodore Laurence," Amy said, moving to stand toe-to-toe with him. 

He glared back, towering over her. "Pray tell, why?" 

"Because you are making me very angry and I don't like you very much right now."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes!" 

A long moment passed as they glared at each other before Laurie finally bit out: "Well, then." 

Laurie couldn't explain what happened next. It was like something took over both of them. One minute they were ready to yell the hotel down, the next Amy had thrown her arms around his neck and he'd lifted her up and pressed her back against the door. 

He kissed her fervently, passionately, his tongue darting inside her mouth to stake his claim. He wanted her to forget anyone else's lips but his. He wanted her to forget the name Fred Vaughan ever existed. 

Amy moaned as she pulled him closer, their bodies pressed fully against each other. It wasn't enough. Keeping one hand on her waist, Laurie hitched one of her legs up and hooked it over his hip, slotting himself between her thighs. 

"You're beautiful," he said, panting against her lips before he kissed her again, hungrier than before. 

Amy gasped. "Laurie." She wrapped her leg tighter around his waist and pulled him even closer until he could feel the heat of her pressed tight against him. Laurie groaned as he grew hard and shifted her higher so that she was sitting fully against his thigh.

Heat pooled between Amy's legs and clutched at Laurie's shoulders. She didn't know whether to clench her thighs together or spread them further apart, give Laurie more room to—to what, she didn't know. But she needed something, desperately, and she needed Laurie.

"Please, Laurie," she said, practically crying. "Please." 

Had she been angry with him? She couldn't remember when he touched her like that: both wild and gentle. 

"Please," she said again, moving frantically against his thigh, searching for the friction she so badly wanted. Her skin felt on fire wherever he touched her through the fabric of her dress and she felt light-headed from the heat. It wasn't enough. She wanted his hands on her skin. She wanted her dress gone so he could touch her everywhere and one place in particular. 

Laurie groaned again and dipped his head to kiss a path down her throat, making her arch her neck and squeeze her eyes shut as he trailed lower and lower. She cried out in frustration when he stopped as he reached the edge of her dress. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her sounds. 

Laurie froze. 

_No, no, no._ She tried to pull him in for another kiss but the spell had broken and he gently lowered her onto the floor. 

Amy whined. 

"We have to stop," Laurie said as he stepped away. "We can't do this. Not here, not like this." 

"Why not?" she whined again, barely resisting the urge to stomp her foot. Laurie would have smiled if he hadn't been ready to jump through a wall himself. 

"Because," he said, dislodging her hands before he could no longer think straight. Again. "You deserve better than some quick tussle in a dark, dirty—what is this—is this a broom closet?" 

"Laurie, I don't—" 

He curled a stray strand of hair around his finger. "There should be a bed with the softest mattress and silk sheets. You shouldn't have to worry about how loud you are or aren't. It should be soft and gentle. And there should be a window so that in the morning I can see how the sun hits your skin."

For a moment she could only look at him as she imagined the moment exactly as he painted it. She sighed. "That does sound lovely." 

"I know," Laurie said, "and it will be soon, I promise." 

She smiled softly, if a little sadly, before she reached for her dress to put herself back together. Laurie stepped back to let her. 

"The dress is new," he said as he watched her. It had not escaped his notice that he'd had greater access to her body parts than ever before. 

"Yes," Amy said, giving a small sway of the skirts. "Do you like it?" 

"Y-yes. What—what type of gown is it?"

"It's called a tea gown. It's the new fashion. Look," she grabbed his hand and pressed it more firmly against her abdomen, "there's no corset." 

"I noticed." He croaked out. "Um, why?"

"So women can be more comfortable, silly. Oh it feels so nice." She arched her back and leaned against the door, closing her eyes in rapture. 

Laurie practically swallowed his tongue at the image. "Amy…" 

She opened her eyes and gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry." 

He rolled his eyes. "It's lucky I've gotten quite used to you torturing me." 

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding not sorry at all. "I've been mean to you, haven't I?" 

"Very," Laurie said but leaned down for a sweet kiss. "Am I going to get an explanation for why my future wife likes to torture me?" 

"It's silly," she said. 

"Tell me anyway," he told her. 

"I just like seeing that you want me, that's all." She reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I used to dream of you just noticing me as a proper girl, when I was younger. Not as anyone's sister or anyone's daughter. As me. But you never even looked my way. And now here you are, not only noticing me, but actually wanting me. It's—oh Jo would know the word for it—intoxicating, I suppose."

"I always want you," Laurie said, somehow unspeakably sorry and wanting to make up to Amy all the years of oversight. "Always." 

The next kiss was not nearly as innocent as he would have liked, but they managed to keep themselves more or less respectable until finally they heard Mr. Garlob's door open and shut again as the man left. 

"I think we're safe to go now," Amy said. 

"Pity," Laurie said, running his thumb across her bottom lip. Amy smiled and placed a kiss on his thumb before she cleared her throat and stepped back. 

"Laurie, before we go, about Fred—" 

Laurie groaned. "I don't want to talk about Fred." 

Amy ignored him. "Even if you don't trust Fred—which you should, he is _your_ friend—you should certainly trust _me_. This is insulting. Just because Fred Vaughan wrote me a letter doesn't mean I'm going to suddenly change my mind and go running back to him. I have—" 

"You're right." 

"I'm what?" 

"You're right," he said, taking her hands in his and linking their fingers. "I'm sorry. I was being ridiculous." 

"Well…" She chewed her bottom lip as Laurie gave her the sheepish look he'd perfected at sixteen. "I suppose I forgive you." 

"Thank you," he said before leaning down to kiss her one last time. 

***

Theodore Laurence strode into the dining hall that night with only one goal, and one target in mind, and damn anyone who tried to stop him. He breezed past tables laden with food, darted past trays covered with flutes of champagne, and dashed past anyone who called out to him.

He even almost barreled over a few staff. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, what has—" 

"Mr. Ruus!" 

Mr. Ruus looked up from where he was engaged in solemn conversation with another gentleman, his eyebrows furrowed. 

"Mr. Laurence?"

Laurie grabbed his arm. "Excuse us." 

"Mr. Laurence, is everything alright?" Mr. Ruus asked, letting himself be dragged away to a quieter spot. "Ms. March, perhaps, or her aunt?" 

Laurie came to an abrupt stop and reached for the letters in his jacket. He slapped the letters on the other man's chest and a wide-eyed Mr. Ruus reached up to hold onto them before they fell. 

"Mr. Laur—" 

"Marry the girl." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Jordie Tuppins. Marry her." 

" _Mr. Lau—"_

"Or I'll find someone who will." He turned on his heels. "I mean it." 

Fred Vaughan, perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone (if you celebrate it) and happy holidays!
> 
> My deepest, sincerest apologies that I haven't responded to comments lately — it's my self-imposed reward/punishment system: no responding to any comments on any of my stories until I've completed this story. I'm hoping the guilt from leaving comments unanswered will propel me into finishing this story faster. 
> 
> To the 5 of you still reading this story, thank you so much! I appreciate everyone's support. I hadn't realized how long it had been since the last update on this. In my defense, since my last update, a crap ton has happened in my life — including that I turned 30 and I got COVID (not at same time but it doesn't seems like an auspicious start, does it? Lol — also, I'm fine). So never worry that the story is being abandoned. It's just horribly neglected as I try to navigate life. 
> 
> This chapter was, again, hideously difficult to write. They're terribly out of character (I tried to reign it in) and it's comparatively fast-paced and action-driven rather than character-driven. It was supposed to serve as something to make readers laugh but it doesn't make a whole ton of sense. Also, don't think too hard about Laurie suddenly losing his mind when Fred came up, I needed a Fred reaction to justify the last line "Fred Vaughan, perhaps", otherwise I generally try to avoid overt jealousy in established relationship stories. They're yuck. Finally, things got a lot lot lot more hot and heavy in that storage closet before I edited it out lol. 
> 
> I could literally go line by line and explain why each writing choice was made and the hours of thought and revision that went into each decision, but I'll spare you. This was months of WIP and reworking/rewriting thousands of words just for my 5 remaining readers so I hope you enjoy it (as always though, there is no final grammar or line edit because I'm tired out and it is what it is at this stage, typos be damned). I tried to provide some cheer lol. 
> 
> Why couldn't I have picked singing or dancing or drawing or acting as my art? I coulda been Tik Tok famous. I coulda been a contender. But no. Writing is the love of my life. It unfortunately seems to have the least return on investment ever. I love that I use these notes as, like, a journaling space haha. Forgive me, it's a pandemic, I have very few people to talk to. 
> 
> Next update hopefully shouldn't be too far behind. 1 more chapter and the epilogue to go!


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